


to build a home

by tardisthetrain



Series: this life of ours [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Autistic Fitz, Canon Disabled Character, Episode: s5e14 The Devil Complex - Divergent, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Perthshire Cottage, Season 5 Fix-It, mentions of child abuse, mentions of deceased characters, mentions of minor character death, wound description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:33:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisthetrain/pseuds/tardisthetrain
Summary: “i can’t believe we’re finally here,” she countered. “finally home, finally married.”“finally fitzsimmons?”she laughed softly. “finally fitzsimmons.”
Relationships: Agent Piper/Skye | Daisy Johnson, Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez, Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Leo Fitz & Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz & Jemma Simmons & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson & Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Series: this life of ours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764394
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	to build a home

**Author's Note:**

> For Julia, the Simmons to my Fitz.

“h-hope you saved some energy,” fitz started to say. he raised one trembling hand, his knuckles already black and blue, scratched and cut, grey from the dust. he pointed towards his lower half, the part of him still hidden by the rubble. “‘cause m’leg’s pinned. i-i think it’s broke.”

his hand fell back and rested against his forehead. a huff of laughter escaped him, but all mack could hear was the harsh and rattling breaths that his friend was making. he moved to get another piece of the rubble off fitz’s chest, a stab of pain hitting him at fitz’s next words.

“you’re gonna have t’carry me out.”

the rubble wouldn’t budge. may shifted the piece that she’d been working on, trying to get the scot’s feet free. with a glance to mack, seeing the strain on his face, she moved, pushing at the larger chunk of debris as mack pulled at it. fitz kept panting, his shaky hand covering his eyes as his friends worked to free him.

finally,  _ finally _ , with a grunt and a heave, the rubble moved and slammed into the ground.

fitz’s right hand came up with his left, the backs of his palms pressing against his eyes until he saw stars. now, even with the rubble removed from his chest, his breaths sounded weak and strained, small gasps being taken in and even smaller ones coming back out.

“we got you, turbo,” mack told him, dusting off his hands. “you just…”

mack’s gaze fell towards his friend, stopping when he saw the wound. just below fitz’s ribs, a jagged piece of metal was sticking out of him. blood had collected on the edge, tinting the metal with crimson, starting to soak into his shirt. fitz took another fractured breath in, and the wound made a horrible squelching noise when his chest moved. more blood was spilling. mack felt like he was going to be sick.

“i think it’s a bad break,” fitz said. his voice shook, and his words cut into the heavy silence that was settling with the dust. “‘cause i c-can’t feel it.”

he whined quietly, and the sound felt like daggers to mack’s heart. he couldn’t take his eyes off the wound, no matter how badly he wanted to. it was only when he saw may’s hand shake in the corner of his eye that he looked over to her, seeing her face had turned ghost white. he was sure that he’d gone just as pale.

may didn’t say a word; the look in her eyes said it all.  _ fitz is going to die _ , her gaze said.  _ he’ll die and there’s nothing we can do _ .

distantly, mack thought he heard a siren. was it too much to hope that it was help for them? for fitz?

the scot had pulled his hands back from his eyes, and trembling fingers were poking at his skin, at the bloody splotches and bruises that dotted the backs of his palms all the way down to his elbows. slowly, uneasily, mack knelt down beside him, being careful to not shift any of the other pieces of rubble around them.

“you… relax, buddy.” he reached out a hand and patted it gently against fitz’s chest. at first, he didn’t seem to notice him, too focused on examining his hands as they shook. “you just breathe.”

“huh? yeah,” fitz’s attention snapped over to his friend. he licked the dust off his lips, the look in his eyes absolutely frantic. his left hand wavered, and in one smooth motion, mack took it in his own, his right hand on fitz’s shoulder. “okay.”

“i’m - i’m gonna stay with you,” mack told him, doing his best to keep his voice from shaking.

“yeah… yeah…” fitz strained to lift his head up more, glancing back over to may, whose face was a mask starting to crack, the remorse starting to show in her eyes.

mack’s eyes went to the wound again, and his stomach turned in knots. “we’re gonna find a way out of this.” he squeezed fitz’s hand as he spoke, his thumb briefly touching the wedding band on his ring finger.

fitz turned his head again, sweat beading at his brow, making tracks through the dust and the dirt and the blood on his cheeks. he grit his teeth tightly. “yeah, okay, okay…” he let his head fall back onto the chunk of rubble behind him. “oh…” in an instant, once he’d let out the shaky breath, he’d lifted his head again, two trembling fingers pointed towards the door. “right. we should hurry up an’… an’ get polly out ‘cause she’s in danger.”

he looked over to may, then turned his head a little to look at the ship behind him, now mostly covered with pieces of the ceiling.

may crouched down a little, shaking her head. “she’s safe now.”

for a moment, fitz just stared at her, almost in disbelief, in shock. then he twitched, almost a nod before his attention snapped back over to mack when he registered his voice.

“hey, you got her out,” he told him, doing his best to force a smile. “you did good, turbo. you did really good.”

fitz nodded again, letting his head fall back onto the rubble once more. “okay…” he closed his eyes, another shuddered breath making his shoulders shake. mack could see blood at the man’s lips, and he and may both braced themselves, knowing that the last breath was coming.

instead, fitz gasped, and his eyes snapped open again. they were starting to glaze over, and mack could tell that fitz could barely see. he looked towards their hands, then to his face. “hey, m-mack,” he whispered. he froze, taking another agonal breath in. “… i think m’legs are broken.”

mack forced back a sob. “you been…” he shook his head. “you’ve been through worse,” he told him. 

he patted his hand on his chest again, watching as fitz started to nod, then his head lolled to the side, thumping back on the rubble one last time. he grunted, groaned, and his right hand dropped, going limp against his chest when it fell. his eyes flickered, the light in them fading, before they closed for the last time.

now, mack couldn’t keep the sobs back. he gripped his friend’s hand in both of his own, his head coming to rest on their intertwined fingers as he shook. from where she was still crouched, may let the tears fall, her shoulders shaking. he’d lost consciousness, and there was only a moment, maybe less, before fitz would be gone for good, and here they both were, frozen to the spot with grief, their ears ringing with the loss of fitz’s voice.

they almost didn’t hear the pounding footsteps coming up the stairs, busting into the room, headed by polly and robin. the young girl frowned at the sight of fitz, lifeless and still half-buried under the rubble, then pointed. 

“he’s not supposed to die,” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion as her mother pulled her back to let the paramedics and the firefighters through, keeping to the shadows of the destroyed room as they worked to free fitz, to keep him alive, if they could. 

* * *

a week or so before jemma’s tenth birthday, she and her family had taken a holiday, driving all the way up to perthshire from sheffield. the drive itself had taken five and a half hours, before the front tire had blown out and shook jemma from her sleep in the backseat. her father had sworn while getting out of the driver’s seat, and her mother had turned, telling jemma to never repeat those words.

she promised she wouldn’t; watching as her father stalked to the front of the car to check the tire, then crossed to the boot to find the spare. when she couldn’t see him anymore because of the lid of the boot blocking her view, she turned to look out the window, taking in the fields around them.

her father was still grumbling as he worked, but she chose not to listen, turning her gaze instead to the other window. out in the field, a little cottage sat among the tall grass. ivy had clung to the walls, crawling up the sides to the second floor windows. even from so far away, she could see the painting on the sides was chipped and in need of a new coat, and that the roof was starting to bow just a bit towards the center, near the dormer. but something about the cottage, about the white paint and the ivy and the deep blue roof, something about it struck her. it looked far from perfect, but to her, the only word that came to mind was  _ lovely _ .

or perhaps it had something to do with the boy she saw in the garden, sitting so glumly on the swing and rocking himself slowly back and forth, dragging his feet through the dirt. jemma had to squint to see him more clearly, to see the cast along his left arm, from his palm to his elbow, and to see that there were no signatures on it, which she couldn’t help but think was strange. she’d known a girl from school who’d broken her arm on the playground, and everyone had signed the cast, drawn shapes and hearts on it to make it brighter, less dulled. but the boy had nothing written there, no marks, no signatures, no hearts.

he tilted back to swing again, and caught jemma’s eye for just a moment. from inside the car, behind the window, she raised a hand to wave at him and offered up just the faintest of smiles. at first, he only stared at her, as though he was trying to make sense of who she was, of why she was waving to a stranger.

then, hesitantly, he raised his left arm, and waved one casted-hand back at her.

she wanted to ask her mum if she could get out of the car and play with the boy, to help him when he looked so sad, to sign his cast and swing on the swing, but she didn’t get the chance. her father had managed to fix the tire haphazardly, and off they were to find a mechanic in town to fix it properly. the fields and the cottage faded into the distance as jemma watched from the back window, and soon enough, the boy did too.

  
when she couldn’t sleep that night, she thought of  _ him _ and the cottage and the swing, of watching him fade away through the window and how inexplicably sad it made her to see him look so small. 

* * *

she wasn’t sure when the pacing stopped helping, but it was at some point between the first and third hour of waiting for an update from the surgical team. all she’d heard so far was that her  _ husband _ was in critical condition, that he’d lost a lot of blood, and that he was in shock. the nurse that kept checking in only said that fitz was still in surgery, gave vague timetables when asked when he’d be out.

by the sixth hour, jemma had bitten her nails down to her fingertips. by the eighth, she’d found that even slightly rocking back and forth made her dizzy, so she'd given that up rather quickly. daisy had attempted to comfort her, sitting beside her on the vinyl sofa of the waiting room. she offered up her hand to hold, offered her a shoulder to cry on, and offered an ear to listen if jemma just wanted to scream and curse at the universe, but the biochemist denied all of them with a polite, detached,  _ thank you _ passing her lips.

both mack and may had talked with her privately, before the rest of the team arrived, to explain in better detail what had happened. when polly and robin had come back; when the paramedics and firefighters had come rushing into the building to try and get fitz free, may had taken a step back.

someone would have to tell jemma what happened, and may volunteered to do it herself, while mack stayed to help them free fitz from the wreckage. piper had been the one to answer the comms first, only a moment after may had radioed to the zephyr.

“ _ may to zephyr _ ,” she’d said grimly. “ _ agent may to zephyr one. does anyone copy? _ ”

the line clicked, and may had winced at the feedback. “ _ zephyr to may. this is agent piper,copy. _ ”

she hadn’t been anticipating piper’s responding to the call, but, she supposed it made sense, in hindsight. “ _ piper, where’s simmons? _ ”

“ _ she’s in the med-bay with coulson. why? _ ” piper had asked, a frown creeping onto her face when she’d heard the faintest hint of nervousness in may’s words. “ _ may, what’s going on? _ ”

“ _ just get simmons, now. _ ”

there had been no room for argument in may’s tone, and piper had hurried to get simmons. one glance over her shoulder had told may that hurrying might not have been enough. the remainder of the rubble had been moved, freeing fitz’s broken legs from the wreckage. all of the color had drained from his skin, leaving him just a pale and bloody ragdoll, surrounded by the paramedics and the firefighters. mack had met her gaze as they moved the engineer, the jagged piece of metal still embedded in his chest, his shirt even more soaked with blood. even from across the room, may had seen just how poorly he was breathing, how hard the paramedics were working to get oxygen to his lungs. moving him had been nearly impossible, just from what she had been able to see, but another click on the comms had pulled her attention away from the scene.

“ _ may? what’s going on? _ ”

jemma’s voice had trembled despite her best attempts to hold back her fear, and may’s response had only made it harder to hold steady.

“ _ fitz is hurt _ ,” the elder agent had said. “ _ badly. medics are moving him as quickly as they can, but it’s bad. _ ”

she had told her where they were going, and piper had returned to the comms system, with the promise that the rest of the team would meet them at whatever hospital fitz was brought to.

that had been close to nine hours ago.

now, everything that jemma did felt like it was too much and yet not enough. pacing made her dizzy, rocking back and forth made her nauseous, but just sitting there in the waiting room wasn’t enough. tears were too final, and until someone told her that fitz was dead, she wouldn’t mourn. all they’d told her was that fitz was in surgery, that he was in critical condition, but he was still  _ alive _ . until that wasn’t true anymore, she wouldn’t cry; wouldn’t allow the tears to fall.

“i feel ill,” she mumbled out loud into the quiet hallway; her thumb brushing over her wedding ring. she sniffled, trying her best to keep the tears back. she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t allow herself to cry.

daisy rested a hand on her shoulder, rubbing gentle circles against the fabric of her shirt. “they’ll come out and tell us something, soon,” she said, hoping there was some truth to her own words. “they have to, i can… i can go and talk to them, or-or something, simmons, i can…”

“no, no, it’s… better to not keep bothering them, it’s…”

even as she spoke, jemma couldn’t help her own hesitation. they hadn’t heard anything in hours, and the longer they went between updates, the further the nausea settled in her stomach, the deeper the pit in her heart grew.

“i just need to know he’s okay,” she whimpered. 

* * *

there’s a small scar just under fitz’s left eye that he got back in the academy. there’s no spectacular story behind it, no dangerous mission or evil foe that he fought off and earned the scar as a battle reward. it’s no war story.

it’s as simple as this: he had gone to get a book off the top shelf in his dorm, and he knocked a picture frame down, the corner of it hitting his eye. he’d cursed and it bled, and jemma, who’d been sitting and studying on his bed, did her best to clean him up.

the photograph was of the pair of them, standing before the shield insignia in the main sci-tech building. they were both in their lab coats, both grinning and both of them bundles of sixteen-year-old nerves having just finished their first presentation of the year. the frame sits on their bedside table now, among the others from their missions abroad over the years.

there’s scars on his left arm from where the surgeons had to pin his radius back together. there’s one at the back of his jaw on the right side, almost touching his ear that he says is from the first time he ever tried to shave off his stubble when he was twenty, but jemma is the only one that knows where it’s really from: he was seven when his father held his pocket knife there and told him that no one would miss him if he was dead.

there’s another at the back of his neck, and it stretches into a semi-circle all the way up to his left ear. it’s from when he was in his coma, from brain surgery that did nothing to wake him up any sooner than the nine days it took.

fitz is covered in scars. physical, emotional, mental. internally and externally. they make him who he is. in the quieter moments on the base, jemma would always lay with him in their bunk and kiss each one, remind him in gentle murmurs how much she loved him.

  
there’s a scar from him that she has now, too. it’s jagged and cracked and it spreads all the way around her heart the moment she sees him laying there. it cuts right through her skin and bones and goes right to her soul. it burns, it aches, it stings, and it breaks. and it hurts. it  _ hurts _ so much that she can’t find the strength to move. 

* * *

he almost didn’t survive surgery, according to the doctor. each piece of news that the doctor gave to the team felt like another blow to the gut; every piece of information hitting harder than the last. his heart stopped twice while they were trying to save him, and they almost didn’t get him back.

jemma just felt dizzy the longer she listened. “but he’s alive?” she asked.

“he’s alive,” the doctor said, a slow nod accompanying his words. “he lost a significant amount of blood, and his injuries are… severe.”

now jemma was certain she was going to be sick, her stomach twisting in painful knots. “how severe?”

the fact that the doctor had to take a deep breath to collect himself made everyone uneasy. “his legs  _ were _ broken, severely; his right femur had a comminuted fracture, and the left tibia sustained an open fracture. his left wrist was sprained, he has a severe concussion, a few ribs were broken, bruised, and came close to puncturing his lung. and his spine was very badly damaged.”

she knew that the doctor was going slow in order to be delicate and gentle, but jemma was ready to snap. “please,” she started, unable to keep her voice from breaking. “just… please, just say whatever it is. this tiptoeing around the truth is only making things worse.”

for a few seconds, no one spoke, but the doctor nodded to jemma, a sympathetic look flashing through his eyes. “the piece of metal caused more damage than we were anticipating,” he began “we were able to get the bleeding under control, but the impact of the building collapse fractured a part of his spine and caused a partial transection of his spinal cord.”

jemma sucked in a breath and shut her eyes tight. “where?” she croaked. “where was… it fractured and where was the transection?”

“t-eleven through l-two were fractured, and the transection was between t-twelve and l-one.”

piper and davis hung their heads. they had enough training in field medicine to know what all of these diagnoses meant for fitz. jemma pressed her palms against her eyes, pushing down hard until she saw stars dance across her vision; until her mind’s eye showed her fitz in constellations.

“what does…” daisy frowned as she tried to find the words. “what does that mean? for fitz?”

the doctor had been about to speak, to answer the question, but jemma spoke first, a tear in her voice as she said,

“fitz will never walk again.”

* * *

from the moment that he opened his eyes, fitz was in a panic. his arms felt like lead when he tried to move them, IVs snaking into the backs of his hands. his head was pounding, slamming, and his vision kept warping, tilting. he felt like someone was using his head as a bowling ball.

but the worst was that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t control his breaths and something was choking him, and something was making a horrible sound, beeping and buzzing and the lights above him were far too bright and he just kept coughing and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t  _ breathe _ , couldn’t —

“fitz?” a gentle voice cut through all of the chaos. “fitz, look at me, look, right here, it’s okay.”

he felt someone grab his hand as he flailed, an errant fist raised towards the voice.

slowly, bit by bit, his vision started to focus, and, if he squinted through the bright lights, he could see her, could see jemma. some of the fear, the terror, started to ebb away as he met her eyes, gentle, beautiful brown hues taking most of his attention.

“hi,” she murmured. there were tears wetting her cheeks, he could see, and her hand trembled as she reached towards him, her palm resting on his cheek, her thumb brushing away tears he didn’t know he’d cried from his own eyes. “hi, fitz. it’s okay. i know you’re scared, but you’re alright now, i promise.”

the coughs had faded, and as the panic dissipated with it, he could feel air reaching his lungs, mechanically and uncomfortably. he tried to raise his free hand to make it stop, his fingers just managing to brush against a tube in his mouth before jemma stopped him, shaking her head gently.

“no, no, don’t touch that,” she whispered, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. “it’s helping you breathe, fitz. just - just try to relax, okay? you’re alright… i’m just so glad you’re awake, fitz. i was… i was so worried.”

it took more effort than he was expecting it to, but he furrowed his brow in confusion, his hand twitching against her palm. her thumb brushed over his knuckles, and she paused to take a breath.

“fitz, you…” she stopped short, shook her head, and tried again. “the beacon you made worked. director fury, he - well, he’s not dead, but he found the signal, he found us. he pulled us from the ocean and… and you - you’ve been in a coma for the last nine days, but you’re awake now and you’re alive. and i am…. _never_ letting you sacrifice yourself like that again, got it? i am never leaving your side again. you… scared me so badly, fitz.”

* * *

almost two weeks, down to the hour, after the building collapsed on him, fitz blinked his eyes open to stare up at the ceiling of a chicago hospital room. it felt painfully familiar, hearing the hum and buzz of the lights above him. his hand twitched, and he curled his fingers around the bedsheets, a low groan passing his lips.

the lights were far too bright, and everything felt tilted, warped and uneven. he flexed his hand again, the i.v. tube tickling him a little as it brushed over his skin. when he made a fist, a spark of pain travelled up his left arm, and the whimper that escaped him felt like it came from someone else, sounding distant and echoey in the room around him.

somewhere off to his right, he heard something click, and he did his best to lift his head up to look, only for it to drop right back down onto the pillow, weighing heavier than he thought possible. “aa-ah, _bugger_ ,” he mumbled, his voice rasping.

“fitz?”

trying to lift his head again was out of the question, so he turned instead, trying to get his vision to focus. his cheek rested against the pillow, and though his blue eyes were glossed over from the sleep and the painkillers, he could just make out the silhouette of jemma coming closer.

“… hi.” the corners of his lips twitched up into a weak smile as he breathed out. “h-hi, je-jemma.”

he stretched out a hand and watched with hazy vision as jemma finally took a seat beside his bed, taking his hand in both of her own. she looked tired, but she did her best to mirror his smile, tears welling in her eyes and starting to fall down her cheeks. “hi, fitz,” she murmured. “how are you feeling?”

he took a breath, his nose wrinkling and making the oxygen tube shift against his skin. “fffuh… fuzzy,” he said, his voice cracking. “mm… m’hand hurts a bit…”

jemma nodded slowly, and gave a gentle squeeze to his uninjured hand. “your wrist was sprained,” she told him, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand, being careful to avoid touching the i.v. “so, it’s going to hurt for a bit. what…” she took a breath. “do you remember what happened, fitz?”

he squinted a little in thought, trying to find the answer to her question. his eyes move to look towards his left hand, frowning at the brace around his wrist. when had he sprained it? when had he been brought to the hospital? and, more importantly, why?

he must’ve gone too quiet for too long, since jemma spoke up, a gentle murmur of, “fitz?” cutting into the room, disrupting the quiet, broken up between the beeping of the ekg beside his bed.

he blinked himself back into focus, frowning in jemma’s direction. “huh? oh…” he tried again to wiggle his fingers, hissing quietly when it stung. “i, er… i’m…” he moved his injured hand just a little, finding that it didn’t sting as much so long as he didn’t try to turn his palm to the ceiling or move his fingers. his hand brushed over the blankets covering him, but even just the slightest movements felt draining, so he let his hand drop onto his stomach —

only to cry out sharply in pain. wildfire spread across his chest, and his uninjured hand curled instinctively around his wife’s. his eyes shut tight, and behind him, the heart monitor beeped much faster, panic spreading through his veins.

“hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.” jemma held on tighter with both of her hands, trying to keep his attention. “look at me, fitz, look. it’s alright, just take a breath, like me, see?”

she exaggerated a breath in, squeezing fitz’s hand until he opened his eyes to look at her, blue hues hazy with tears. he did his best to mimic her, his shoulders shaking and trembling as the shaky breath reached his lungs. she nodded to encourage him, letting out the breath and letting her thumb brush against his knuckles.

“good, good. that’s it, fitz, just do that, you’re alright.” one of her hands let go, and she reached to brush his hair from his eyes. “it’s alright, fitz, it’s alright. i’m here.”

he trembled, forcing himself to exhale as he nodded, all the color drained from his cheeks. “wh… wha’ ha-happened? why…”

he moved to try and shift his hand again, nudging the blankets away from his lap. before he could, jemma shook her head. “fitz,” she started. “hey. look at me, okay? look at me, i can… explain, just… you need to go slow.”

he stared at her, his eyes glossy and cheeks wet with tears. his shoulders shook with every flinch he tried to fight. jemma squeezed his hand once, and though it took him a moment, he squeezed her hand back, slowly starting to nod, accepting her offer to explain.

jemma inched her chair closer to him, and he could see all the gears turning in her head, searching for each word she couldn’t say, couldn’t find.

“while you were with may and mack,” she finally started, watching as he nodded to show he was following. “you were coming out of the remorath ship, and the… daisy’s fight with talbot, both of their powers being used, it caused a tremor, and it made the building shake. it was already in really bad shape, and it… the ceiling caved in. you - you were pinned under the rubble, caught in the collapse.”

fitz’s breathing had started to calm, and he gave a slight hum in response to her. “… m’legs,” he interrupted, pointing a trembling finger down to the foot of the hospital bed. “m’legs w-were broken. i was… i was talkin’ t’mack.”

jemma’s lip wobbled a little as she forced herself to smile. “you… you did break your legs, quite badly, fitz, but… i’m afraid your injuries were a bit more severe than that.”

“sss… severe?”

she took in a shaking breath again, her grip on her husband’s hand tightening with every passing second. “severe, yes. fitz, a… a piece of metal was embedded in your side, and - and you lost quite a lot of blood. you - you almost died, a-and you would’ve, if polly and robin hadn’t gotten the attention of an ambulance crew. they got you out, got you to surgery. rather, a lot of surgeries, actually. you’ve been in and out of consciousness since the last one, yesterday, for your wrist, but…”

he could tell she was fighting the breakdown on the horizon. his fingers twitched once against her palm. “severe?” he asked again.

“right.” her thumb brushed over his wedding ring, though whether she was trying to calm herself or calm him, she wasn’t sure. “the building collapse, the impact, it fractured your spine, and… and the piece of metal caused a partial… it partially severed your spinal cord, fitz. the doctors did… did everything they could, but i’m afraid the damage is permanent. i’m… i’m sorry, fitz.”

he couldn’t understand why she was apologizing. it wasn’t her fault, after all. she hadn’t made the building fall on him. she hadn’t given talbot his powers or caused the tremor or caused the remorath ship to wobble. she hadn’t embedded the piece of metal in his chest.

he puffed up his cheeks, holding in a breath. truthfully, he didn’t even realize he’d started to cry again until he felt jemma’s hand on his face, her fingers brushing the tears away from his eyes. “i…”

“it’s okay,” she said slowly, shaking her head. “hey. look at me, yeah?”

it took him a moment, one filled with hesitation and uneasy breaths, but he finally turned his head, leaning into her touch as her hand cupped his cheek. his brain told his legs to move, but nothing happened, nothing but a phantom fire spreading from bone to ligament to bone and back again. his eyes darted to the edge of the bed again, where his toes were covered by the blankets. he willed them to move, to wiggle, but they didn’t, and tears fell down his cheeks, against jemma’s gentle touch.

“hey.”

he let his attention go to back to her. his lower lip wobbled, the edges of words touching his lips, but he couldn’t get his voice to work, couldn’t find the energy to speak. her thumb brushed over the ridge of his cheek again, halting his worries, just for a moment.

“we’ll get through this, okay?” she soothed. “same as we always do.”

“t-together.”

* * *

“ — and it was with the creation of nitramene that the ssr began it’s exhausting tango with mr howard stark.”

despite already knowing this, already having read ahead for the course, fitz and jemma were taking notes on every word out of professor vaughn’s mouth. it was almost a race, a game, seeing who could write out his sentences faster, who could finish the thought before the professor said it.

usually, it was always fitz that won, though he seemed to be lagging behind today, and jemma was certainly noticing.

she nudged her elbow against his, a furrow in her brow to ask him what was wrong. his eyes moved from his notebook to meet hers, blue hues hazy with almost-tears. he gave a simple shrug, then continued to scratch at his notes, his attention fixed back on their professor until his phone buzzed in his pocket.

fitz had never been very coordinated. he’d always claimed to have two left feet, and jemma had witnessed his clumsiness many times before, but seeing him scramble to answer his phone and get out of his chair at the same time seemed to take the cake. his notebook fell from his desk, and his knee banged into the lecture hall stairs when he slid from his chair, his phone already held to his ear.

the other students turned to look at the commotion, the sight of fitz stumbling up the stairs, whispering apologies to his professor the whole way up until the door had shut behind him.

seeing him leave the classroom was enough of a shock for jemma. he _never_ missed a lesson. ( and neither did she, for that matter. ) he’d come to class with a 103° fever once, all rosy cheeks and wild eyes and hacking coughs, insisting the whole time that he was fine. hell, he hardly ever left to use the restroom, never wanting to miss a second of the lesson. but to see him run out of the room so frantically, and to have his _phone_ on in the middle of a lesson in the first place…

when he didn’t return for the remainder of vaughn’s lecture, it only cemented jemma’s worries. she packed up her things, and his as well, carrying both of their backpacks out into the hall to search for him, pushing through the crowds of the older freshmen. 

she almost missed him, sitting in a little corner alcove in the back of sousa hall. he’d drawn his knees up to his chest, his palms pressed hard into his eyes, and, even from a distance, she could hear him crying.

“… fitz?”

he snapped his head up towards her voice, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, stopping for a split second to glance at his watch. “bugger,” he muttered, starting to stand, grabbing onto the water fountain to balance himself. “i mi-missed the whole lecture, i’m… i lost track of… of… of time, i’m sorry, i’ve t’go talk t’profe—”

“fitz.”

she shook her head just a little, a hand reaching out, her palm on his chest. she could feel his heart racing under his shirt, could feel him shaking, and now, up close, she could see every detail on his face, spelling out in bold that something was wrong.

in the few months since she’d met him, since becoming his friend, one of the first things she’d noticed was that he was _awful_ at keeping eye contact. he’d told her he’d never been good at it, that it was one of the giveaways that something was a bit _different_ about him. but here, standing in the hall with her hand on his chest, he was looking directly in her eyes.

every fleck of green in blue hues was more prominent, more visible with the tears welling against them. she could see the slight deviation in his left eye much clearer now, could see how it turned in slightly toward his nose. she could feel his breath on her cheeks, and she could hear the tears he was trying to fight.

“what’s wrong, fitz?”

she didn’t move her hand away from him, just moved it instead to his shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge to tell him to sit, and she joined him once he did, their backs to the wall.

“mm… m’granddad,” he started to say. “he’s… he passed. tha’s… s’why i had t’answer… was m’mum phonin’ me…”

he didn’t talk too much about his family, always tiptoeing and creeping around the subject whenever she’d asked. but she knew the basics. she knew his father was no longer in the picture. she knew he lived with his mum and his grandfather. she knew the impact that his granddad oliver had on his life, since he’d started to live with him when he was ten. he told her that his granddad had moved in with him and his mum because of his health, but something about fitz’s voice when he said that gave away that it wasn’t exactly the whole truth.

“oh, fitz…” she squeezed his shoulder gently, letting out a soft breath. “i’m so sorry. i’m sure professor vaughn will understand you needing to leave. and you’re welcome to borrow my notes, but… i’m sorry.”

fitz sniffled, hanging his head down. “i’ve t’go home,” he mumbled, looking down at his sneakers. “m-mum needs m’help goin’ through his estate an’ everythin’. a-an’ the will an’… he apparently left a lot t’me, s-so, i’ve… mum is…”

the words faded out when a sob took their place. he lifted a hand towards his head, his knuckles white in a tightened fist, trembling in frustration before it banged hard into his temple. she’d seen this before, seen one of his more violent breakdowns when he couldn’t quite make sense of the world around him, why the earth spun the way it did into unavoidable events.

“hey, hey, hey, no. no, fitz, look at me.” she squeezed his shoulder again, inching a little closer to wrap her arms around him. in an instant, he was hugging her back just as tightly, and she couldn’t help but be grateful for it, for how quickly he’d accepted her help. his tears fell onto her shirt, and he shook as she held him, as she rubbed gentle circles against his back.

when he felt calm enough to move, she went with him to his dorm, helping him pack up his duffel bag and helping him get everything together for his flight back to glasgow the next morning. she’d gone with him to the airport, giving him one last hug before he went to his gate, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his temple.

when he’d turned to go, and as she watched him walk away, she found the name she’d been looking for, to identify the butterflies in her stomach as something more than just the happiness of being around her best friend.

at sixteen years old, watching her best friend walk to his gate to go home, jemma simmons realized that fitz was so much more to her than she thought possible.

* * *

the whole team had gathered in the lounge of the lighthouse to celebrate fitz’s discharge from the hospital. it had been a very long month, between surgeries and meeting different doctors and specialists, bad days and decent days and days that neither fitz nor simmons wanted to think about again.

fitz grumbled his way through every appointment in physical therapy, almost a mirror of how he’d taken to it after his brain injury, but jemma was ever-present by his side, encouraging him and listening patiently as he cried useless, cried that there wasn’t a point to even bothering if he was this broken. but their storms were weathered, and they made it through to the other side with tears in their eyes, and their grips on each other’s hands never wavering.

fitz tired much faster, but once daisy had come into the lab and _insisted_ that they celebrate his being home, his being _alive_ , he’d agreed — if only because it would made jemma smile, and because he was growing frustrated with staring at the computer screen in front of him.

“just let me finish with this sample,” jemma hummed, moving to press a kiss to her husband’s cheek. “i’ll meet you in the lounge, i just want to make sure this is taken care of properly.”

“i can wait,” he said, his shoulders inching up into a shrug, but jemma waved a hand to daisy.

“no, no, go on,” she insisted, offering up a smile. “go with daisy, i’ll be right there, fitz. promise.”

he watched her for a moment before he turned his head to look towards daisy, giving her a small nod. the inhuman smiled softly, moving to grab the handles on fitz’s wheelchair, pulling him back towards the door.

“alright, fitz, hands and feet in the wheelchair at all times, you know the drill,” she teased him, making him snort in amusement, shaking his head.

“y’not funny,” he muttered, tipping his head back to look at her as she pushed him down the hall. he could hear the chatter of their friends already, just a bit louder than the ringing that kept his ears company most of the time. ( according to the doctor, the tinnitus was a result of his eardrum being ruptured, though it was largely manageable, thankfully. )

“i think i am, actually.” daisy picked up the pace a little, leaning more weight on the wheelchair, pushing him faster.

“alright, alright, stop, stop, before i throw up, dais.” he raised a hand up in surrender, knowing that the increase in speed would only lead to her spinning him in circles. “you’re mildly funny, tha’s as _far_ as i’m willin’ t’go.”

daisy hummed faintly, wrinkling her nose. “see, i want to say that that isn’t good enough, but i think i’ll just have to go easy on you for tonight. but for _tonight_ only, got that?”

she let go of the wheelchair and moved aside, opening up the doors to the lounge, letting fitz maneuver himself the rest of the way, grabbing onto the wheels and pushing himself forward. mack was the first to see them come in, a grin across his face as he came closer to meet them.

“hey, turbo,” he greeted, taking over the reins to bring him over to the rest of the team. “how ya feeling tonight?”

“good, yeah.” the scot nodded, only a fraction of hesitation to the action. “bit tired, but… i suppose i could push sleepin’ off for a bit, if it means w’can all jus’… have a moment, wha’ with you an’ daisy runnin’ things now, seems like i hardly see any of you guys anymore.”

“yeah, well, we got big shoes to fill.”

mack nodded towards coulson, sitting beside may on the couch, each of them nursing their own drinks. the retired director must have heard them talking, as he smiled in their direction, raising his glass.

“where’s simmons?”

another voice caught fitz’s attention, and he turned, his heart hammering in his chest, thumping against his ribs hard enough to make him shake. “wha’… wha’ the _hell_ are you doin’ here?”

hunter scoffed, setting his beer aside. “what, that’s how you’re going to say hello? y’not gonna stand up and give y’best mate a proper hug?”

fitz just stared at him, his mouth agape, lips twisted into a smile. “i don’t…”

“ignore him,” bobbi said. she stepped closer, standing beside her on-again-off-again husband, giving his shoulder a shove. “it’s good to see you, fitz.”

he couldn’t seem to pick his jaw up off the floor where it fell, shaking his head again and again. “how are… how are you two here?”

“i said we were celebrating,” daisy said, sounding almost insulted. she handed fitz a bottle of water, then raised her own beer to her lips. “i figured we’d need _someone_ to bring us alcohol.”

hunter raised his glass. “and who better than me, eh?”

daisy nodded for fitz to follow her to the rest of the group, leading him to the middle of the couches and chairs, into the conversations about all of the missions that bobbi and hunter had missed. piper moved around fitz, taking a seat a little closer to daisy and snatching her bottle from her hand to take a swig.

“okay, but we have to go back to the _beard_ ,” davis interrupted into the conversation, pointing from fitz to hunter. “like, full… crazy scottish lumberjack kind of beard?”

“yeah, just about, mate,” hunter laughed. “he just needed the axe, and he’d be good to go.”

“i still wish i could’ve seen that.”

the hand on his shoulder made him jump just a bit, but fitz calmed the moment that he realized it was only jemma. he reached his hand up to meet hers, a soft smile on his lips. “i don’t think i’ll ever let the beard grow out _tha_ ’ much again,” he told her with a shake of his head. “was too bothersome, really. an’ itchy.”

he inched the wheelchair back a bit, watching jemma’s smile, feeling lighter than he’d been in a while. her thumb brushed over his shoulder, against the fabric of his shirt. “everythin’ okay in the lab?” he asked, his head tilted to the side.

“yeah, fine, i just needed to make sure that the samples were taken care of.” she squeezed his shoulder once. “but there _was_ something in the results that i needed to confirm with you, if you wouldn’t mind discussing work for just a quick second.”

she nodded towards the tablet in her other hand, watching fitz’s brow furrow as he took the device without hesitation. he swiped through the different pages, looking through every bit of readings on the blood samples.

“this isn’t coulson’s,” he finally said, turning to look at his wife. “coulson’s blood wouldn’t… he wouldn’t have…”

a quiet had spread over the group of them, every set of eyes on fitzsimmons. “my blood wouldn’t have what, fitz?” coulson asked, a brow raised in suspicion.

“hcg,” fitz murmured, looking to the tablet again. “s’a… _pregnancy_ hormone, s-so…”

“i never said that the samples were coulson’s.” jemma wore a smirk on her face, tears brimming in her eyes. “they’re mine, fitz. they’re my blood samples, i… i’m…”

“… gonna have a baby.”

for a moment, fitz didn’t think he could breathe, and the whole team shared a quiet glance, every one of them meeting each other’s gaze. jemma, though, kept her gaze on her husband, waiting with bated breath for him to speak again.

“fitz?”

“i’m…” his voice broke as he tried to start talking. his eyes moved, looking from the test results to jemma, then to her belly, and back again. she leaned over, swiping a finger across the tablet’s screen to bring up a sonogram image.

a little laugh passed his lips, grin spreading over his face, his focus going back to bouncing between his wife and the tablet. “i’m gonna be a _dad_ ,” he said, feeling a familiar pressure behind his eyes, tears building up. “we’re… y’gonna be a _mum_ , jemma, we’re… we’re havin’ a baby.”

* * *

there was far too much activity happening in the common area of the playground base, too many sounds and lights and too many voices. even just from the doorway, from sitting on the floor outside, fitz was already overwhelmed.

“are you sure you want to do this?”

jemma crouched down in front of him, a hand resting on his knee to get his attention.

“fitz, if you’re not ready, you don’t have to, really. we can just go back to your bu—”

“n-no.” he shook his head, and his vision spun. “i ca-can do it, i’m… i ca… i can, i know it, i jus’… g-got… got deh… um, got, deh…”

he snapped his fingers, his hand flapping by his side.

“ _dizzy_?” jemma suggested.

“yeah! yeah, tha’, i jus’… got dizzy, but… i can… i c-can do it.”

he reached to take jemma’s hands in both of his own, letting her pull him up, first onto his knees, then, slowly, onto his feet. he was still uneasy, still unused to walking without a walker, or without crutches to keep him steady.

“easy, easy,” she murmured. “i’ve got you, fitz. just take it slow.”

it had been close to two months since he’d been released from the hospital, almost six months since he’d woken from his coma, but the days were still rocky, and his recovery was still slower than he wanted it to be. one-syllable words were about as much as he could manage, save for a few names, like hers.

he held tighter to her hands, his knees wobbling, sweat already collecting on his brow. “s-slow,” he told her, his gaze down at his shoes. “i’m… g-go slow, yeah?”

“slow,” she echoed. “i’ve got you, it’s alright. we’ll go slow.”

the plan had been to show the team his progress, to show them how well he’d done with physical therapy. everyone had been treating him differently, tiptoeing around him like they were walking on eggshells, too afraid to tip the scales and say or do the wrong thing. he wanted to prove them wrong, to prove that he was still himself. but even then, just standing up in the hall, trembling and clinging to jemma’s hands, he wasn’t sure if he could prove it to _himself_. 

“fitz? hey, look at me, i’ve got you, just take your time.”

he shook his head just a bit, a whine escaping him. “i ca- i can’t.”

he sounded so defeated, crushed that even standing was too much for him. he wobbled again, starting to slip just a bit. she held on to his hands a little tighter, easing him back down to the floor as the sobs started to fall.

“it’s okay,” she tried to assure him, moving to sit beside him instead of in front of him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. “it’s okay if you’re not quite there yet, fitz. ‘cause i’ll be here, okay? i’ll be right beside you for every bit of progress you make, no matter how small.”

she swiped the tears off his cheeks, resting her head against his shoulder, never minding how much he shook or how he trembled when she held him. “i’ll _always_ be here, fitz.”

* * *

when the building shook and took away fitz’s ability to walk, jemma had only been pregnant for a mere two weeks. when he was finally released from the medicated coma the doctors had put him in, she was just barely a month. another two months, and he was discharged from the hospital, and she only told him another week or so after he was back at the lighthouse.

at a full five months, she was waiting nervously in the medical bay, sitting up on the bed and smoothing over the sheets below her, trying to keep herself calmer. fitz kept moving himself back and forth, rolling his wheelchair an inch or two forwards, then back again, then forwards once more.

watching piper try and get everything set up was agony, making sure every piece of equipment was ready and working properly. she’d been continuing her medical training, and the moment that she’d overheard fitzsimmons discussing their next ultrasound, discussing whether or not they wanted to know if they’d be having a boy or a girl, she’d jumped at the opportunity.

granted, she’d prefaced her offer with reminding the couple that she wasn’t completely positive about how to tell, but she was willing to try, and jemma had been willing to give her the chance for practice.

daisy had followed the couple into the medbay, sitting herself up on one of the counters to watch, glancing from jemma to piper, then to fitz as he kept fidgeting. “stop. moving,” she muttered, grabbing the wheels of his chair. “stop it.”

he tilted his head back to look at her, about to speak before piper made the first move. he looked back to jemma, inching forward to take her hand, giving it a squeeze. it took a moment for the image to show up on the screen, the black and white blobbing image.

“well?” he tilted his head to the side, squinting to try and make the image clearer, trying to see if he could determine if he’d be having a son or a daughter. jemma held tighter to his hand, muttering with a laugh to be patient.

“i’m working on it, give me a second,” piper scoffed, shaking her head impatiently at the engineer. “whatever the baby is, it doesn’t really want to be disturbed from the nap right now, so…”

she trailed off, moving the ultrasound wand over jemma’s belly. still hopped up on the counter, daisy leaned forward, her position mirroring fitz’s.

“guys, i can _feel_ you watching me,” piper said, her back to her friends. “chill out. not my fault that baby fitzsimmons is shy.” she paused. “hang on, little guy’s moving, miiiight get a better image…”

“baby fitzsimmons,” fitz repeated, giving jemma’s hand another squeeze. he couldn’t help it when his heart skipped a beat whenever they talked about the baby, and now was no exception, the eagerness ready to burst from his chest.

a quiet settled among the four of them, but it wasn’t until piper nodded and turned to the couple that everyone held their breaths. “okay,” she started. “are you _sure_ you want to know?”

jemma nodded. “i do. we’ve had enough surprises. i think we’ve earned not having to wait, for once.”

“agreed.” fitz’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, his grin spreading from ear to ear. “i want t’know.”

“one-hundred percent sure?” piper asked again. she waited to see them both nod, then nodded to herself, pointing to the monitor, to the little blob of shapes that they’d be holding in just another four months. “alright, well, there are _his_ feet, _his_ arms, and hi — ”

“s’a _boy_?” fitz interrupted.

“a boy.” piper tapped at the image. “i’m sure of it.”

“you’re sure?” jemma pressed.

“positive.” she moved and pointed again, one hand still holding the wand over jemma’s belly.

daisy squinted. “what’s that? his hand?”

piper smirked. “his penis.”

* * *

“fitz, hi. i don’t know why i’m still talking to you… why i’m recording myself. you’re never gonna see this, are you?”

fitz leaned forwards, his chin resting on his hands. he wanted to say  _ no _ , to tell the jemma on his computer screen that he  _ was _ seeing it, wanted to tell that jemma to not give up hope, that he’d be finding a way back to her soon.

“i still haven’t found water,” video-jemma continued. she squinted at her phone’s camera. “and it’s, um — well, i… it’s, uh… i’m having trouble focusing, and i-i’m  _ trying _ to stay positive, but i’m  _ scared _ .”

jemma was only a few rooms away, taking a nap in her bunk. logically, she was less than one-hundred feet away from him, but he’d never felt further from her than he did in that moment, watching her on the screen report back to him about being on the alien planet.

“i’m scared, fitz.”

her voice cracked in tandem with his heart.

she took a deep breath. “do you remember when we first met?” she continued, and fitz couldn’t stop himself from nodding. “i do. you were so quiet and pasty, and… so incredibly smart, handsome…”

a cough interrupted her words, and he winced in sympathy, practically tasting the sand in his mouth.

“quite a strange feeling, isn’t it?” she asked, wiping her mouth. “never wanting to be without someone. you must have been so annoyed, me following you around all the time.”

“no,” fitz whined. he swallowed back the lump in his throat. his hand trembled when he moved to wipe away his tears. “never.”

“i imagine our dinner sometimes — where we’d go, what we’d eat. i wonder about us a lot, actually. there’s this small cottage in perthshire we drove by once when i was a girl, some — some… family holiday, and i don’t know  _ why _ but i — i found it so lovely. i still think about it — a place where you and i could have…” she sighed, shutting her eyes against the wind blowing in her face.

“but that’s that, i suppose.” he could hear her resolve breaking with every word. “i’m not sure how long this battery will last. i should save it, just in case. for more important things. but i’ll still talk to you on my own, if that’s alright. i’ll always be with you, fitz.”

* * *

fitz’s eyes were starting to cross, and he was starting to lose consciousness. a small bit of drool was collecting against his lower lip, starting to spill down his chin. every bit of him was exhausted, down to the core, but he jerked back into focus when his computer beeped.

between the phantom pains in his legs keeping him awake at night, and jemma getting up to use the bathroom every four minutes, neither of them had been able to get any sleep. in another two months, he was certain that they’d be praying to gods they didn’t believe in for just a millisecond of sleep. even daisy and piper’s preemptive offers to babysit didn’t feel like they held any weight to them if they couldn’t sleep  _ now _ .

since the building collapse, since the release from the hospital, and the announcement that jemma was pregnant, neither of them had been sent out on field missions, with their time divided between the lab or the control center for consulting. coulson had already filed the paperwork. they’d remain agents of shield for as long as they wanted to, but they wouldn’t have to go into the field again, doing all of their work from the lighthouse. jemma had decided she wanted to work until the moment she went into labor, but at seven months pregnant, she didn’t really get the chance to sit down and focus on work for long periods of time.

seven months and two weeks into the pregnancy, fitz was alone in the lab, scrolling through different pages of real estate agencies and dozing off while they loaded. what he’d been planning was a surprise for jemma. if they were no longer going to be field agents, and if they were doing all of their work remotely, they might as well get a chance to do it from a  _ home _ and not a base.

besides, the lighthouse was a far cry from their ideal home.

for close to two hours, fitz had been clicking onto different links, trying to find just the right building. he felt like one of the little pigs in the storybooks they’d been stockpiling, or goldilocks, looking for the house that was  _ just right _ , and blowing down, or clicking off the tab, of all the ones that weren’t what he was looking for.

“ugh. i feel like a  _ boat _ .”

jemma’s voice from the doorway caught him off guard, and he clicked onto a different link so she wouldn’t see. she waddled into the lab, one hand on her belly, and the sight of her brought a smile to his lips.

“did y’get any sleep?” he asked her, one hand grabbing one of his wheels to turn himself, pivoting to face her.

“no.” she pouted. “he keeps  _ kicking _ at me, doesn’t want me to get any rest.” she stepped over to his side, letting out a huff. “you can certainly tell hunter that we’ll have a little football player on our hands in a few months.”

“ha.” fitz reached his hand out to meet hers, over her belly, where little thrums pushed against his palm. “jus’ as long as y’like manchester an’ not liverpool, little fella, i think everythin’ will be  _ fine _ .” he leaned in closer, pressing a small kiss to where the baby had just kicked.

jemma hummed softly. even the smallest gestures had been putting her near tears, lately, and fitz’s gentle kisses were high on the list of reasons-jemma-was-sobbing. “what are you up to in here?” she asked, wiping her tears back before they could fall.

“ah, y’know, jus’… work stuff.” he waved his hand back towards his monitor. then froze.

a maps image was opened up on the screen, a street-view of a little cottage in a field. ivy was snaking up the sides, chipping paint in its path, and the deep blue roof was bowing just a bit in the center. really, having that image up had just been a comfort. he didn’t realize he’d left it open in his search history. and he was sure that, even with her so-called pregnancy-brain, jemma would be able to put the pieces together of what we was doing.

he reached for the computer mouse, but she stopped him with a simple squeeze to his shoulder. “fitz, that’s it,” she breathed, her heart hammering in her chest. the baby kicked again, almost in agreement.

“wha’?” he frowned just a bit. “n-no, i was jus’… browsin’. daisy showed me tha’ game where it drops y’into a random location on the street-view maps an’ y’have t’find the airport, so i was—”

“no, i mean,  _ that’s _ it.” she pointed to the cottage. “from when i was a girl, we drove by it on holiday.”

now his heart was racing, too, loud enough that he was sure she could hear. “w-wha’? really?”

she nodded so quickly that his own head spun. “i’m positive. my god, it’s  _ exactly _ like i remember it. it’s even got the swing in the garden…”

he couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping him, bubbling up in his chest. “y’kiddin’ me?” he asked, turning his wheelchair again to face her. “tha’s… tha’s  _ really _ it? tha’s the cottage y’saw when y’were little?”

“i know it is. dad had to stop the car, he… he got a flat tire, so we had to stop, and i got a good look at it. i’d know it anywhere, fitz.” she tore her eyes away from the screen to meet her husband’s gaze. “what were you  _ really _ doing in here?”

she’d  _ definitely _ figured it out, then. there was no skirting around it. “i was…” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “i  _ was _ tryin’ t’find somewhere for us t’live… t’raise the baby when he’s here. w-we can’t… stay in the lighthouse forever, so…” he waved back to the monitor. “i was lookin’, an’ i was gonna  _ surprise _ you, an’ i jus’ had tha’ particular screen up as-as-as a  _ comfort _ , t’help me search, but… seems i don’t even have t’search anymore. it’s settled.”

“settled?” she shook her head a little. “fitz, it’s a nice gesture, really. i’m touched, but there’s no for sale sign, and that picture was taken, what? last month?”

“doesn’t need the sign,” he said. he fished in his pocket for his wallet. “doesn’t need t’be for sale.”

“what are you talking about, fitz?”

his wallet was in his hands in an instant, and he took something from the back sleeve, holding it out to her. in his palm was a key, small and silver, but old, at least twenty years old. a thin piece of string hung from the loop, a little tag at the very end to label it. unmistakably, she recognized his handwriting, scratchy and smudged on the scrap of paper. she sucked in a breath.

“you already own the house,” she realized, the words flowing out as she exhaled.

  
“m’granddad left it t’me when he passed. tha’s m’granddad’s house.” he pressed the key into her hand. “tha’s  _ our _ house, jem.” 

* * *

“love, why don’t you go out into the garden, hmm?”

eleanor fitz rested a hand on her son’s shoulder, watching as he scribbled glumly onto a piece of paper at the breakfast table, drawing pictures of complex airplanes, his hand trembling as he drew. beside him, oliver fitz watched patiently, his eyes on his grandson.

“hey,” he said. “go on, yeah? i’ve just got t’chat with y’mum for a mo, an’ then y’can help me with the vegetables in the garden once we finish, hmm?”

without a word, fitz nodded and slid from his chair, dropping his pencil and moving to the kitchen door. he’d only been there for a few hours, and it had only just stopped raining outside. everything still felt hazy from the previous day, though, his arm still numb and unused to his cast, the stitches still wrapped tightly. the past twenty four hours all felt like they’d gone by him too quickly.

there’d been shouting and doors slamming, his mother and father screaming at each other. he was used to it, the background noise of his home, but it all went topside when he heard the glass shattering, and he’d poked his head out from his doorway to see the window shattered in front of his father. it got worse when the elder man turned and spotted his son watching him.

it all happened in a rush, and, despite his best attempts, fitz couldn’t piece every moment together. all he knew was that, one moment, his father was shouting at him, and the next, his father was walking away, turning to go, leaving fitz on the ground, cradling his arm to his chest.

the moment that his broken arm was treated, his mother had brought him home and told him that they’d be going to stay with his granddad for a bit,  _ just until i get a chance t’speak with y’father, love _ , his mum told him. he’d just nodded, doing his best to pack up his clothes and his stuffed monkey into his backpack, with one arm left largely immobile.

he slipped his shoes onto his feet and pulled the front door of his granddad’s house shut behind him, nudging a pebble with his toes until he reached the swing. he’d helped his granddad put it together the previous summer, sitting on his shoulders so he could screw in the bolts and make sure that the chains were secure before he’d been set back down on his feet, and his granddad had pushed him back and forth on the swing until the sun had gone down.

now, though, the air was starting to chill, and his granddad was busy inside, talking with his mum, so fitz just pushed himself gently back and forth, basking in the newfound silence, with no shouts and no shattering glass, no slamming doors and no —

the sudden and heavy  _ pop _ caught him off guard, and he skidded his feet into the dirt to stop his swinging, breaths already starting to come as gasps. his mum had told him that his dad wouldn’t bother him if they were staying at his granddad’s, he had to remind himself, while he looked around frantically for the source of the sound.

a car had stopped in the middle of the street, one tire hissing out air as a man got out from the driver’s seat, muttering to himself as he went to check the damage.

starting to calm, fitz let his breaths go back to their pace, and he let himself shift again, back and forth, back and forth, until another flicker of movement caught his attention. he had to squint to see properly, but a figure was waving to him, he was certain of it, just from the backseat of the car.

it was difficult to see properly, but he was certain that it was a girl, about his age, it seemed. she kept waving at him, and for a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t get his focus to settle on her, until he saw her smile. his heart thumped faster and faster, and he lifted his left hand up, waving one casted hand back towards her, a smile spreading over his lips until she drove away.

* * *

jemma had never been so happy to not sleep for three days.

oliver lincoln fitzsimmons had been born close to three in the morning with a wail in protest, unhappy to be leaving his mother’s womb, where he’d been safe and happy and warm for the past nine months.

his face had been a deep red, his nose wrinkled and his brow furrowed in a way that made him look like a perfect mirror of fitz when he was trying to concentrate. he flailed his little arms and whined in his distress, hands and feet pushing away the cloths that were being used to wipe away his tears.

he opened his eyes for the first time an hour later, blue hues looking to his mother as he lay content in his her arms as she cradled him, her fingers sweeping over little tufts of hair on his head. “he’s perfect,” she’d murmured, looking to her husband, sat in his wheelchair beside her hospital bed. 

now, at home, two days after his birth, he was cooing contently in fitz’s arms, his father starting to doze off, laying on the sofa with his son on his chest. it had been a rather long road, and the past two months had been nothing but constant moving and adjustments. the cottage had to be adjusted, a ramp had to be installed by the front door so that fitz could get in, the walls needed a new coat of paint, and the roof had to be fixed, but the team had been more than willing to help them make their new home right for them.

jemma sat on the other end of the couch, tired eyes watching the rise and fall of fitz’s chest, watching as their son kept twitching his little foot as he slept. he hiccuped, letting out a quiet whine as he woke himself.

fitz was awake a second later, blinking his eyes open at his son’s cries. “hey,” he murmured. “hey, s’okay, ollie…” he shifted himself back an inch, trying to prop himself up against the couch cushions. “s’okay…”

“need help?” jemma’s offer was quiet, and she moved just the slightest bit, a hand around her her husband’s back to help him up, his own arm wrapped protectively around his son’s back.

“thanks… i’m… i’m okay.”

sleep was still slurring his words, and his eyes were still half-open from his nap. there were plenty more sleepless nights ahead of them, he knew, but he was grateful for them. he’d be happy to spend his nights awake if it meant he’d be awake with oliver.

“i can’t believe he’s here,” he mumbled. the boy had started to calm, now cooing contently against his father’s chest, drool on his chin.

“i can’t believe  _ we’re _ finally here,” she countered. “finally home, finally married.”

“finally fitzsimmons?”

she laughed softly. “finally _fitzsimmons_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This piece has been on my mind since I sat on the floor of my living room in tears the night that season 5 ended. I sobbed into my mom's arms, and she patiently said, in her infinite wisdom, "This is what you write fanfiction for, right?"
> 
> Yes, though it took me far too long to finish, this is what I write fanfiction for. 
> 
> This whole piece was actually largely inspired (and sometimes taken from) a thread done between myself and @biochemiist on tumblr, which extends far beyond just a happy ending, for anyone that's interested.
> 
> I live in fear for what season seven brings us, but, like my mom said, it's what we write fanfiction for, and we'll always have fix-it fics to help us through the pain.


End file.
